Another Neric Christmas
by ncisnewbie
Summary: How did Christmas go for Eric and Nell? Tag to Humbug. Chapter 2 is up, with some scenes from the vacation.
1. Chapter 1

A special thank you to TheAlphabetSong, for the suggestion of music.

All NCIS: Los Angeles characters are property of Shane Brennan and CBS.

In a daze, Eric shuffled along behind Nell. Like Charles Dickens' Mr. Fezziwig, she bounded through the chaotic, crowded LAX check-in concourse. She merry-Christmased the redcaps and hummed to the elevator-music Christmas carols which dueled with the TSA warnings on the loudspeakers. When she saw a lost-looking Salvadoran family, she chatted with them in Spanish, and then pointed them toward baggage claim. The cinnamon-evergreen potpourri brought her to a halt at the Crabtree and Evelyn kiosk, and Eric, lugging their carry-ons behind her, found himself observing—not for the first time—that a pair of brake lights on her hips would prevent embarrassing collisions. How she could be so excited about a five-hour red-eye flight, he had no idea. He knew, simply, that he'd just have to keep up and promise not to embarrass her, or himself.

When they got to the security checkpoint, Nell dragged him to the certified flier lanes, "Nell, are we allowed to do that?" so that when she flashed her badge with their boarding passes, they were guided directly to the metal detectors. In consequence, they arrived at their gate just as the harried gate agent called, "Northwest Airlines, flight 831, widebody service to Minneapolis, departing from gate A15 at 10:25. All passengers with confirmed tickets should now be boarding."

Eric's confusion level increased threefold when, on the gangway, Nell grabbed his left arm most endearingly, held it like a bell-rope for a few paces, and then pulled it over her left shoulder, clasping it in front of her bicep. Then she looked up at him and grinned, a Cheshire-Cat, kid-at-Christmas grin.

Their seats, 32 A and B, were to the left of the left aisle, and as Eric followed Nell to them, he took the time to check out the passengers around them. Directly behind sat teenage siblings, presumably attached to the forty-five-year-old couple behind them. In front sat two senior citizens, decked with souvenir golf shirts. Across the aisle sat a businessman who worked his smartphone like a man possessed until the pilot announced their takeoff. Behind Mr. Cellphone, in 33C, a fifty-year-old woman read a book in a scarlet nylon reusable cover.

As soon as they took off, Eric's look sterned, and he asked, "Okay, Nell. Help me get our story straight."

"Our story?"

"Our backstory, our cover. Nell, if I'm pretending to be your boyfriend, I'll need to get this stuff right. Remember, I don't have field training like you do!"  
>Nell's grin faltered, but then she assumed the didactic look of a parent explaining two and two make four. "Okay, Eric: we've got five hours to get this straight. For a long time, I've wanted to date you, and you've wanted to date me."<p>

"For a long time," Eric confirmed.

"Right, so… we could, I suppose, go through this Christmas and pretend you're my boyfriend. It would be safe, and when we got back we would wait until nature took its course before we started dating for real." As Eric listened to her say it, he hoped, more fervently than ever, that there was another option. He took a breath as Nell squared her shoulders. "Or, we could treat this as the start of our dating. I was hoping, and I'm hoping you're hoping it too, that this could be the start of…"

He interrupted her, "Yes." He planted a kiss on her cheek, "Yes," another kiss on the other cheek, "yes. A million times yes. Let's let it start." His smile broadened and his ecstasy increased until the flight attendant came through and offered them pretzels.

Once the cart had moved on, Eric returned to his research. "So, Nell. What do we tell your family? I'm betting there's a lot that two people dating each other know that colleagues don't. I mean, it isn't really likely that I'd visit your family before we've even been on an official date." He paused, hoping she'd make her intentions clear, but when she didn't, he proceeded more tentatively. "I think we should tell them we started dating a while ago, so that visiting the family would be in the natural order."

"Okay, then."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Frustrated, he whispered, "Okay, so when did we start dating?"

She looked at her watch. "'bout twenty minutes ago." She smirked.

"No, I mean what will we tell your family. Nell! Would you be serious, here? I need your help!"

"Okay, let's go with Saturday, May tenth."

"May tenth? Why so specific?"

"Don't you remember? The notes-of-which-we-cannot-speak?"

"The notes? How could I forget?"

"Well, I didn't forget either. After that, Mom and Linda were pestering me about dating, and I kinda implied we were…kinda together." She trailed off. "Don't be mad, Eric. Please don't be mad."

Eric faltered. "Two roads diverged," he thought. On the one hand, he could be upset that he'd been lied about: It was, after all, his dating status, too. On the other hand, dating was what he wanted, and he'd never blame Nell for hurrying things along. Humor. That was the way out of his dilemma. "Typical! We've been dating for seven months, and I didn't even know it." She nodded shyly. "We've got some serious catching up to do!" He gave her a quick kiss on her temple.

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Me too, but I mean we need to get our story straight, about all the places we've gone and the stuff we've learned about each other. Like where was our first date?"

"The paella place?"

Creating cover. This is what they were good at. Eric relaxed. "Okay, that sounds good. Any trips while we've been dating?"

"Can we tell 'em that trip to Santa Fe combined business with pleasure?"

"Done! Wait, that was two springs ago!"

"'Kay, then. How 'bout we went back there this October for a vacation."

As the flight attendant trundled the cart through again, Eric leaned back. "This might work. This just might work," he thought.

After a comfortable silence, he whispered, "How much should we know about each other's exes?"

"Don't ask, don't tell, Beale."

"Not even Nate?"

"Especially not Nate."

Another comfortable silence, this time Nell broke. "Oh, and I'm on the pill."

Eric, drowsing off after the long day, startled into wakefulness, stammering, "What?"

"You know…. In case it comes up."

"What, during the interrogation?" Clarity. This topic, of all topics, needed clarity.

"Eric! They won't interrogate you. They'll love you."

For a second, he scowled in stubborn denial, but finally relaxed into businesslike efficiency. "Okay, but when it comes to sex, we're taking it slow."

"Why?"

"Well we haven't actually done it, and if we don't pretend like we have, it'll keep things less awkward there. Pretending that we have is just buying trouble."

"Whaddya mean, Eric?"

"It's bad enough that I'm dating their Little Nell,"

"What, you don't want to be dating me?"

"No, I'm loving it, but I think they'll be protective: they don't want me dating you."

"No, Beale, they'll love you. I've told them so many good things about you."

"See? I wanna be the good guy, so taking it slow seems right. Even if they do approve of me, they probably don't wanna think about me …doing that…with their little girl."

"I guess you're right." Nell sounded defeated.

"For once."

Eric stretched his arm across Nell's headrest, so when she realized his intention, she leaned forward enough to let him reach her far elbow, then raised the armrest so she could cuddle into his chest. For almost ten minutes Eric sat and smiled while the travelers slept around them and the miles zipped beneath them. Finally, he whispered into the silence, "So, were you just planning our cover, or are you really on the pill?"

"Takin' it slow, Beale." They shared a chuckle, then Nell returned to her dog-eared copy of Sun Tzu.

In the peace of the airplane, Eric's mind drifted back, back to high school, back to Dorothy Vinton. Dorothy, with wavy brown hair draping down to her shoulders, ever the sharpie, the girl all the boys ogled, had somehow become his debate partner, even though he was a year younger than she was. As they prepared their plans and counter-plans, as they found ever-more obscure quotation cards on the topic, they chatted, and Eric became a sounding-board for her problems with guys. "You seem out of sorts, today, Dorothy," would prompt another tirade on all the privileges Rob, the quarterback, or Scott, the point guard, would expect, simply for the honor of dating him.

Later, he waited for a ride home and overheard the guys from the sports teams with their bawdy complaints about her. "There goes Dorothy Vinton, the Ice Queen." "Frigid," they said. This wasn't the Dorothy that Eric knew: organized, witty and sarcastic. So it came as no surprise to him that she wouldn't put up with their groping. It's not like Eric tried anything, either. Not only was she out of his league, she was his teammate, his partner. Still, he felt for her, and vowed never to become "that guy," the one who expected so much, as if it were some male birthright.

Eric remembered his disaster with Paula Murcheson at the music ensemble festival. After years of viola practice, he'd been assigned Mozart's Sinfonia Concertante, for Violin (Paula), Viola (Eric), and orchestra, replaced with a piano accompanist. Since it's basically a double concerto, some wags say Mozart's best violin concerto includes a violist. Less irreverent speculation suggests Mozart wrote it to perform with his father, an act of reconciliation in their stormy relationship.

In the cafeteria/ready-room, amidst the cacophony of instruments tuning, runs and scales, (there was even some Paganini in the distance) Eric, in his nervousness and enthusiasm, had thrown an arm around her, "If this goes well, let me take you out to Le Cid!" he'd said, thinking of the neighboring town's fancy restaurant. Paula had quickly pulled back and stared at him. Once they reached the stage, her smile, normally natural and radiant, had been replaced with a glare, his with a strangled grimace. The performance itself had been a disaster, the judges' comments made clear. "You were stepping on each other's entrances. This piece is all about chemistry: make it a love-song! Violin: you need to flirt with him and charm him, not upstage him. Viola: not so plaintive!"

Eric knew he'd messed up, trying to turn their work into a relationship, and now he could see, with vicious clarity, how this trip was the first step down a path that led, inevitably, inexorably, to the same train-wreck he'd endured with Paula.

After a while, Eric dug his personal tablet out of his backpack, put it in airplane mode, and pulled up PowerPoint. "Okay, Nell. Help me understand your family tree."

"Relax, Beale! It'll be fine."

"No, it won't. You've known these people forever," his whisperings grew desperate, "but I'm getting dropped right into them."

"Still, you won't actually be facing an oral exam on them."

"No, but I will be expected to know something. We've been dating for seven months, remember? And besides, I don't want to mess this up. These people are too important to me."

"You haven't even met them yet."

"No, I haven't. But they're important to you, so they're important to me. Please, Nell. Help me get this right!"

"Relax!"

"Please, just humor me, okay?" He decided to plow on, distract her with details. "Your dad, he's William, right?"

He watched as her resistance faded. "Yup."

"And where does he work?"

"He's the high school principal."

"And your mom?"

"Ellen. She was the grade school principal until two years ago. Then she retired and works part time in the church office."

For the next twenty minutes, Eric grilled her about her family.

The chart was getting crowded when he asked, "Anything else I need to know?"

"Oh yeah. You can tell the twins apart because Will has the rounder face, and he has a mole on his neck. Chris's face is more square. You'll catch on quick."

"See! I'd hate to mix them up," he whispered urgently.

"Relax! The whole town gets them mixed up, and they're inseparable anyhow. You'll do fine."

"Nell, I'm freaking out, here. Anybody else who almost slipped your mind?"

"Oh! My crazy aunt Ethel: older than my mom."

"And you only thought to mention her now?" Crazy aunt? This is what he needed to be warned about.

"She's the one who makes the Christmas sweaters. I think she's making you one. Brace yourself."

"See? I told you I need this warning!"

"Relax, Beale."

"Nell. I've gotta do this right. These are important people. If your Aunt Ethel is making me a Christmas sweater, she probably went into conniptions when she found out we'd be coming."

"Conniptions? You're the one in conniptions! Relax, Eric!" She tried to cuddle into his chest, but he tore himself from the seat and charged up the aisle to the bathroom.

Once inside, he stared at himself in the mirror, drawing deep chemical-scented breaths. "Crazy, Eric. This is absolutely crazy. If this trip goes badly, you'll lose her. Really badly, she'd find a way to get you fired. What were you thinking, Eric?" He drew some cold water to splash onto his face.

Just as he dried his hands, the door slid open and Nell came in, put a shushing finger to his lip, and then locked the door behind herself. "That's the lock button: you'll want to try it next time." Still with a finger on his lip, she put a kiss on his chest. "You're a sweet, good man, Eric Beale. And you need to believe that. If you get Bobby mixed up with his cousin CJ, or ask them about lacrosse instead of hockey, that's okay! They know you're you. They'll see how happy you've made me by coming along. They'll see that you're kind, and polite, and careful, and smart, and one little slip-up with who's who won't change that: it would just prove you're human.

"Eric, they've had outsiders at their Christmas before: it wasn't that long ago that Chris brought Jill home, that Linda brought Rob." Eric's thoughts, only recently settled, flew out of control again. Jill and Rob are now her in-laws. Did she realize what she'd implied? "It won't be long before CJ brings someone, too. We celebrate. We celebrate family; we celebrate friends. We'll celebrate you, too—just the way you are."

A smile formed on Eric's lip, so Nell finally removed her finger. "What? Am I visiting Billy Joel or Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood?"

"Well, at least Mr. Rogers had a sweater."

"Yeah, we'll have to see how that goes: I'm getting more and more worried about the cold, too." He paused. "Hey Nell, would you use your finger again to quiet me for a second?"

"Okay, umm, why?" She did.

"So I can do this." He put a kiss on it, then spoke around her finger. "I've gotten several kisses from you, but only recently started returning them. I'd like to kiss you here," on her finger, "and here," her knuckle, "and here," the back of her hand, "and here," her forehead. She purred. "And here," he kissed her left cheek, "and here," her right cheek, "and…"

Silence. Nell must have grown tired of his desultory path to her lips, because she planted them onto his with all the energy the little three-by-five bathroom could contain.

Minutes passed as the kiss went on for miles and miles. Finally, the smells overwhelmed their enthusiasm, and the kisses ended. "Okay. Now to get back to our seats." Nell stuck her head out the door and looked forward, then around the door to the back. "Looks like the coast is clear."

"I'll stretch my legs. I'll use both galleys to do a loop and meet you at our seats."

"'Kay. See you back there." She rubbed his cheek with her thumb.

With all the nonchalance of an amateur pickpocket, Eric made a quick tour of the cabin, and got back to his seat without problems. He'd found a blanket in his perambulations, and had just draped it across Nell and himself when the stewardess tapped his shoulder. "Some sparkling wine for you two, compliments of the woman in 33C." Surprised, Eric looked over his shoulder, and helped Nell see their benefactor. When the woman looked up from her book they nodded their thanks to her.

After a minute, Nell furrowed her brow in puzzlement as she rubbed her cocktail napkin. She turned it over, and they saw handwriting on the other side.

Welcome to the Mile-High Club!

Pan Am, 1984


	2. Chapter 2

**Back by popular demand, a sequel to Another Neric Christmas. **

**I had trouble coming up with an overarching plot for the rest of the story, but here are some scenes. Foreshadows "Spiral"**

**Standard disclaimers apply: NCIS: LA and all its characters are property of Shane Brennan and CBS.**

**PWP = Plot? What Plot?**

* * *

><p>Nell, Eric and her dad marched up the front sidewalk, between three-foot-high snowbanks. William Jones, bringing up the rear, pulled down the neck of his parka so he could offer, "Normally, we'd use the garage door and bring you in through the mud room, but Ellen says Eric's front-door company so we've got to do it the hard way."<p>

Eric's "You don't have to go out of your way for me," was drowned out as Nell pushed open the front door. As soon as they'd entered, family came from all corners of the house. They barely had room to fit everyone into the entryway for greetings and introductions. In fact, Eric admired Nell's presence of mind to get the door closed before the entry got too crowded even for that.

"Eric, meet my family: my mom, Ellen, and my Aunt Ethel," Since they'd had priority on the hugs, they needed now only to nod. "My brother Chris," he found his hand gripped in the claw of a sturdy man only slightly older than he was, a redheaded Sam Hanna, "and his wife, Jill," Nell indicated a blond woman in a blue sweater, who gave him a quick hug.

"CJ's around here somewhere, probably in the kitchen—fourteen-year-olds!" Jill pointed over her shoulder.

"This is my sister Linda and her husband, Rob, and there are their kids," she indicated a phalanx of siblings still in pajamas, "Liz, Bobby, Will and Chris." It looked like their ages matched what Nell had told him: ten, eight, six and six.

Mrs. Jones broke the split-second of silence, "Well, come on! Let's get you three started on breakfast! We couldn't hold off the kids, but there are fresh waffles in the oven. I fired up the waffle iron when William called from St. Cloud. The bacon should be just about ready, too."

"Bobby, would you run their suitcases up to their rooms? Then you can go back to your checkers game." Linda sounded like she'd had plenty of practice managing her kids, but Eric noticed Bobby scowl, anyhow.

Nell indicated for Eric to pass the bags to the redhead, "Thank you, Bobby!"

"Your Aunt Nell will be in her old room, and her friend Eric will be in your mom's old room," Mrs. Jones shouted up the stairs. Then she looked over her shoulder as she proceeded down the hall. "You can get settled after breakfast. That okay, you two?"

"We'll be fine, Mom!" Eric noticed that Nell nearly interrupted her mother.

Aunt Ethel fretted, "Traveling all that way, no time to sleep, and probably just peanuts to eat."

Eric thought, "Actually, it was pretzels and Cold Duck, but that's another story."

Nell replied, "Oh, we'll be fine, Aunt Ethel. Relax."

"And Nelly, I'm so glad you phoned ahead about Eric. I'm just putting the final touches on his"

Nell interrupted her aunt, "Aunt Ethel! Those are presents: they're supposed to be secret."

"Oh, relax, Nellybean! It's not like he works at the CIA or something. Besides, he saw that we do sweaters three years ago when we Skyped you at work."

"See," Nell whispered to Eric as she sat down beside him. "Without even thinking about it, she told you it's sweaters she was talking about. And don't you dare"

"Nellybean? I wouldn't even think of using it. It's your name: you get to decide. And I'm betting you'd rather it stay here."

"You can say that again, Beale."

After breakfast, Mrs. Jones led him up to his room. "Here you go. This is the closet, and the bathroom's through there. You share it with Nell, so be sure to lock the door on Nell's side when you go in. The top drawer is empty for you, and there's an extra blanket in the closet."

"Thanks, Mrs. Jones."

As soon as Eric had unpacked, Nell came in. "I figure we've got some sleep to catch up on. Mom'll let us nap 'til about two, when they leave for hockey. Bobby has a home game this weekend."

"Do you want to go?" Eric asked.

"Nah, I'd rather show you the sights around here. Rest up." She pulled him in for a quick kiss. "There's a lot to see." After she left, Eric pulled the shades and curled up in bed for four hours of the sleep of contentment.

Too soon, he found himself being shaken awake. "Get up! We can't sleep all day. Up and at 'em."

"Oh, Nell! Do I have too?"

"Yes, Eric. We need to reset our clocks to Central time so we can sleep tonight. Dress warmly. We're going for a walk."

Ten minutes later, Eric pulled a cotton sweater over his Hawaiian shirt and ran the scarf twice around his neck. Sneakers and board shorts finished his outfit. He found her in a small room off the kitchen. She'd dressed in woolen leggings and an olive-green knee-length down parka, and she held a furry lambskin cap and mittens. "You look toasty!"

"You ought to try it."

"I don't think it's my size."

"No, Wolfram. Toastiness. You might like it. We should be able to scare up something that fits."

"Nell, board shorts are my signature look! Me in long pants and a coat would be like…like Santa in a Speedo."

She covered her eyes and recoiled in mock horror. "Ouch! There's a mental image I can't un-see."

"See? I'd be just as out-of-place in warm pants."

"Okay. Suit yourself, Macho Man, but Dad's coveralls are right here!"

"Just let me try it, Nell. We're only here a few days."

Nell trundled down the driveway and started along the road while Eric shivered beside her. Overhead, the sky was gray with heavy clouds, and the sun, already low in the sky, showed just barely through the solid, milky bowl. The snow crunched beneath their feet, and in the distance a train whistled its next grade crossing. Wood smoke from a half-dozen chimneys scented the air spicy with the evergreen and oak.

The road turned and led them across the side of a hill. Here they stopped to look out over the scene. Three granite glacial boulders peeked up through the snow to their left, dotting the cleared pasture. At the base of the hill, a creek gurgled under the snow and another hillside rose beyond, its crest swooping up and to their right. Beyond that, a fence line arced across the face of the next hill, a stripe of barren bushes tan against the white. The pastures spread before them, undulating like ocean swells until, at the horizon, a line of evergreens divided earth from sky.

Nell smiled up at Eric with rosy cheeks and a cold-born tear running down from each eye. "Look, Eric. This is what I wanted you to see." Eric stood, amazed. Amazed that he could see so many different shades of white, and that a scene of such simple, expansive gray could bring Nell such happiness. She pointed down the road, to where it disappeared into the maples. "Can we go on? There's one more thing I'd like you to see." Eric looked to where the limbs traced a fractal web of black against the sky.

Eric's teeth chattered. "Is it warmer in the woods?"

"Nope, but moving will warm you up a little bit."

"Okay if we try that later, then? This cold is getting to me. Sorry, Nell."

"Let's get you back and get you warmed up. Cold like this is not something you mess with. Wanna run?"

"Sounds good," he said through chattering teeth.

"Just be careful: there's probably ice under this snow."

As soon as they stepped in the door, Eric's glasses fogged, so he could only hear as Nell popped some water in the microwave for tea. By the time the fog had cleared, she had returned to get him settled in front of the fire, wrapped in a yellow blanket. "You sit here and warm up. I'll bring you tea in a minute—chamomile okay? —then start on some hot chocolate—not the powdered stuff but the real, good, homemade kind." She started some Christmas music on the stereo, put a log and a few pieces of limb onto the fire, and then bustled around the kitchen, pausing only when the microwave beeped. "Hetty would have my hide for using a tea bag, but that's what Mom has, and this is an emergency."

"I'm sure it will be fine, Nell. Thanks." He took a sip. "Ooh, the honey really helps. Thanks, Nell."

She returned to the stove, to whisk the chocolate as it warmed. A few minutes later, she poked her head into a cabinet in the living room as she muttered "secret ingredient." Soon, she returned to the sofa, a steaming mug in each hand. "Give this a try."

Eric set his tea on a coaster on the side-table and carefully took the cocoa. "This smells really good." He took a sip but then gave an involuntary cough. "Packs a wallop. I'm betting this secret ingredient is about eighty proof?"

"Yup." She smirked as she snuggled into the blanket. "None of this cocoa for the little kiddies."

"So the secret ingredient is…?" he probed.

"I can't tell you. That's the definition of 'secret.'"

"Oh, come on, Nelly. I've got security clearance."

"Still can't tell you. All I can say is that it got me through watching more than one snowy football game in high school."

"You didn't!"

"Oh, c'mon, Beale. Haven't you seen that I've got a wild side?" She curled a leg across his, and ran her hand beside his knee. Her tone changed instantly. "Your legs are still icy-cold, Eric!"

"Nell, I'll be fine."

By the time the tea and cocoa were finished, some of the heat had started returning to his legs, and he fell into a drowsy, contented haze. As naturally as all the world, he put his arm across her shoulder and she put her ear to his chest. They were so relaxed that the combination of the jet lag and the alcohol and the brush with hypothermia kept him from noticing as the door from the garage opened. Mr. Jones barreled into the living room. "Hey, what's my schnapps bottle doing out in the kitchen?"

* * *

><p>The next day, Eric woke in the strange room at about nine, and he listened as the family buzzed around him. Nell's mom gave a stream of instructions, comments, and opinions. Chris and Linda, her brother and sister, were also constant talkers, so he wondered how he would have been able to get a word in. Then it hit him: Nell's habit of completing people's sentences arose to fit just that need. Nell's dad thumped along, a man of few words, the bass drum of his voice providing the rhythm of the family one pronouncement at a time.<p>

Once he had dressed, he spent some time debating whether to brave the family on his own or wait for Nell to wake. Just as he decided to camp out with the latest Robert Harris novel, Nell knocked and bustled in to wake him. She wore a poblano-green skirt and an oxblood red sweater over a burnt-gold turtleneck with white paisleys. Eric nearly chuckled when he thought about how Nell must have struggled to find clothes in her earth-tone wardrobe that were "holiday" enough for the trip. "C'mon. The whole family's up and at 'em. Today you get to have my mom's famous breakfast casserole. You'll love it!"

She ushered him down to the breakfast table and as soon as he sat, his breakfast materialized before him, delivered by almost every female hand in the household: a mug of coffee, pitcher with cream, glass of cranberry juice, and a plate with sausage, English muffins, and the casserole. The sole concession to convenience was that gravy for the casserole was offered straight from the pan, but Eric, thinking that the effect on his cholesterol count would give his doctor a heart attack, declined that.

At breakfast he felt more like a celebrity besieged by paparazzi than a suspect at an interrogation, but the effect was the same, even if the power dynamics was different. Nell worked valiantly to ensure that he had a chance to eat. It became a routine—like taking turns. Somebody, usually Aunt Ethel, would ask a romantic question. Eric would start to answer it. Nell would take over, and Eric would take a bite. Just as he took the second bite, they'd pipe up with another question. Eric had just started to appreciate Nell's intercession when William Jones emerged from his basement.

With a nod to him, Mrs. Jones sprang into action. "Nell, dear, since you don't seem to be very hungry, why don't you come with me to look over the dress I'm making for Elizabeth?"

"Can I come up in a minute, Mom? I told Eric how I loved your breakfast casserole, but haven't had a chance to have any." Eric smiled. It was a pleasure to think of how many times Nell had used flattery to get what she wanted, frequently with him.

"I'm sure he'll save you some, dear. You said he's a gentleman, right?"

"But Mom…" Eric thought she would have outgrown that wheedling tone when she was about eight.

"Nell Renée Jones, this is not a request."

Eric watched the women troop out of the kitchen and when Nell looked over her shoulder he caught enough worry in her look to make him feel like a condemned man.

The older man poured himself another coffee then lowered himself into the seat at the head of the table. "So, Mr. Beale,"

"Please, Mr. Jones, call me Eric."

"Very well, then, and I'm Bill." They reached around the breakfast dishes for another handshake; as if this were their first meeting and the previous twenty-four hours had never happened.

"So," It came out more as Eric's breath than as the start of any particular line of thought.

"So, Nell's told us so many good things about you."

"She has? Well, I hope I merit them, then."

"Before Nell started working at that TV station, I always wondered what type of man would charm her. Immensely talented, she tended to expect the same skill, dedication, and insight in the people around her. Anyone who can meet that standard, who can keep up with her, must be a special man."

"Bill, your daughter is an amazingly talented woman, and I'm glad just to be in her world."

"Nothing subtle in your admiration. I like it."

"Trust me, Bill. I tend to keep my opinions in check, especially about people, but when it comes to Nell, I finally learned to just put it out there."

Silence. But Eric had learned from Hetty long ago what a powerful tool silence could be, so he just waited, occasionally taking sips of his coffee or cranberry juice.

"Nell tells us you're a professional blackjack player?"

Eric braced himself. No secure income, flirting with the law. He knew what was coming since he'd played that life before. "That's right."

"Well, I'm more of a poker player, where I suspect you can hold your own."

Eric's sense of relief was palpable, he only wondered if it was also audible. "Yeah, I hold my own. But at poker Nell's really good, too."

"She must have picked it up since college. She was just so busy then."

"We both know she's a quick study."

"We'll have to have a game, then, after Christmas. I know Chris and Rob play, too."

"Sounds good. But understand, outside a casino, I don't play cards for money. Tell you what: If you guys beat me, I'll get the takeout pizza."

"Deal! Loser buys." And they shook hands again.

* * *

><p>By Christmas Eve, Nell had managed to borrow her mom's car to take Eric to the mall. All the way, Eric watched, amazed, as Nell navigated along the snowy roads. Once they got there, he did his Christmas shopping for her family and then they found a pair of khakis and a pair of jeans, each about two inches too big for Eric in the waist. Nell had persuaded her Aunt Ethel to take in the waist, but leave the thighs roomy enough that Eric might be able to survive the holidays. She also snuck a set of thermal underwear, "Think of it as a wet-suit," onto the counter as the frazzled clerk rang up Eric's purchases.<p>

After an informal dinner on Christmas eve, Rob pulled Eric aside, "Hey, can we get you to watch the kids for a little while? Chris, Linda and I still have some Santa-wrapping to do for them."

"Sounds fun, but I think Nell would want to help."

"Don't worry, Jill's talking to her already. We'll need to leave for midnight Mass at eleven. Books should be good, but it's kind of a tradition that we read 'Night before Christmas,' so could you save that for us?"

And so it was that Eric found himself sitting beside Nell on the floor in front of the sofa, the two of them surrounded by kids. Each had a twin on their lap, while Liz, CJ, and Bobby poked their heads over Nell and Eric's shoulders. They'd wrapped the yellow blanket across the laps of everyone on the floor and draped a blue blanket across the shoulders of everyone on the sofa. In a voice that would out-Karloff Boris Karloff himself, he launched into _The Grinch._

"All the whos down in Who-ville liked Christmas a _lot_,  
>But the <em>Grinch<em>, who lived just north of Who-ville did …_nnnnnot!"_

The twins drifted off to sleep by the time they met Cindy Lou Who, but Eric, completely absorbed in his performance, barely noticed. When he finished, Nell gave spirited reading of the first scene of _A Christmas Carol._ When it got to the scary doorknocker, Eric suggested skipping to Fezziwig's ball scene, but only when Liz joined in did Nell agree. With a tattered copy of _Year Without a Santa Claus,_ Aunt Ethel took over to cover for Nell and Eric while they got ready for church.

* * *

><p>It had been a long time since Eric Beale had stepped inside a church for anything besides the funeral of a fallen agent, but he knew it would be important to get tonight right. He laid out his new clothes on his bed and stepped into the bathroom. A pencil-thin tie, a drop of cologne, a thorough tooth-brushing, he figured he'd survive—and, more importantly, not embarrass Nell. He couldn't help but smile: when Hetty made him wear khakis, he ended up desecrating them, but something, whether it was Nell's family or the cold he couldn't say, ensured that tonight he'd wear full pants with pleasure. He'd nearly finished shaving when Nell slipped into the bathroom wearing her bathrobe.<p>

"Hi, sweetheart," she greeted.

"Hello, yourself…sweetheart." It came out tentative, for he still had trouble wrapping his mind around the idea. "I'm still worried about that poker game. For me, cards are not fun. It was work, and a single tell could cost you thousands of dollars."

"Well, when you play, it will just be pizza at stake, so you can keep it light. Take part in the conversation, and don't become the Tungstenator."

"Tungstenator: I like it." He thought for a second, then growled, "I'll be bivalent!"

Nell had finished setting out her toiletries, and she stepped beside him so they could look at each other in the mirror. She gave him a kiss. "Did you get a shower?"

"Yup, I had one before dinner."

"Your loss. I'm about to get mine now." She smirked.

He turned and pulled her in toward him. "Isn't the first rule of diplomacy not to make a threat you wouldn't be willing to follow through on?"

"What? You'd be threatened by a shower with me?"

"Well, here and now I would. Nell, please, can we talk about this later?"

"Okay, but by the way, the second rule of diplomacy is never to put all your cards on the table. Maybe I would have simply offered you the first shower."

"But maybe not?" The kid-at-the-candy-store hopefulness returned about him.

She shooed him toward his door. "You'll never know, Beale. You'll never know."

In complete confusion, Eric retreated from the room, carefully setting the door to lock behind him. Finally he regained enough consciousness to wipe the last of the shave cream from below his ears, and he reached for the tee shirt he'd set on his go bag.

* * *

><p>The day after Christmas, Eric came shirtless into Nell's room. Nell, sitting at her desk with her back to him, didn't react. "Hey, Nell. Can I borrow your hair dryer?"<p>

"Mr. Beale. I caught you!" came a voice from Nell's laptop. He looked with trepidation over Nell's shoulder and wilted. The screen showed Leon Vance on video-conference from MTAC.

"You certainly did, Director," he agreed glumly.

Eric sat beside Nell, and she passed him one of the earbuds. While he waited, he realized he must look like a suspect waiting in the boatshed. As an attempt at explanation, he wrote on her tablet. "Thin walls. My cover: Nell's boyfriend." Then he held it up in front of the camera.

"And it looks like you're doing a very good job of it."

"I've read that you should throw yourself into your cover, sir. I think it was Ian Fleming."

"I contacted Ms. Jones because we have an interagency symposium coming up. Analysts from the entire US intelligence and law enforcement community will meet at Langley, part of that 'connect-the-dots' initiative. In response to current events, they added sessions, 'the Emerging Relation with Cuba' and 'Cyber-Policy after the Sony Hack: Lessons Learned,' I thought you two should represent NCIS."

"Thank you," Eric offered.

"Thank you, sir, but there's not much to know about Cuba these days: it's been off the radar."

"Well, you're one of the Latin America specialists with the agency, Ms. Jones, and Ms. Lange tells me you're a quick study."

Nell smiled at the compliment. "I do my best."

"Good. You'll have a week in Los Angeles,"  
>"That's good. It looks like things are heating up on that mailroom thing."<p>

"Say no more, Ms. Jones. Then on Sunday, you two will fly out to DC."

"It will be an honor."

Director Vance continued, "There is one complication, though. Almost all the rooms we booked for the conference are already assigned and lodging is scarce in Washington because of the new Congress. There's one room in Arlington that would be nice and close, but if you needed separate rooms, you'd end up in a Comfort Inn in Stafford, about ninety minutes away."

As Eric asked, "Can we get back to you?" he was interrupted.

"We'll take it," Nell interjected.

* * *

><p>As soon as they had settled in their seats for the flight home, Nell had curled into him. The whole way, Eric could only smile. He'd survived the trip, their relationship had survived, and soon they were headed to share a swank hotel room in DC. Finally, the pilot brought up the cabin lights for final approach into Los Angeles, interrupting his reverie. Nell stirred. "Hey, Eric, can I just drop you off at your place?"<p>

Eric had the sense there was more, but repressed the tendency to go into panic mode. "Umm. Sure? Can I ask why?"

"I just have some shopping to do."

"If it's groceries, I could tag along. I'll need some groceries, too."

"It's not groceries."

She turned suddenly serious. "Do I want to know what it is?"

"Yes," she said with an air of mystery.

"Aaannnd?" he prompted.

Nell's smirk settled the last of Eric's concerns. "And just because you want to know doesn't mean you get to, Beale."


	3. Chapter 3

Standard disclaimers apply: NCIS: LA and all its characters are property of Shane Brennan and CBS. Guest appearance by Abby Sciuto from NCIS. She is property of CBS and Donald Bellisario.

* * *

><p>After Nell and Eric returned from Minnesota, their Monday started peacefully. The team's theory that most of the criminals took off for the holidays proved accurate again. Eric installed four minor security patches in the computer system, and then he set about routine maintenance of his Kaleidoscope system. Every chance he had, he searched for traffic cameras which had been jarred by the latest tremor, or bank security cameras that had been brought online or upgraded. It was impossible to know when a glitch would affect a chase, so he spent any spare time looking for trouble.<p>

Around one, Eric went out to get Nell a pita from a nearby food truck, and they enjoyed a quiet, casual lunch on the sofa in the bullpen, but as they stood to return to Ops, Hetty called from her office. "Ms. Jones, Mr. Beale, please join me for tea."

Eric's stress level, genetically programmed to be high, spiked as soon as Hetty had finished her tea ceremony and returned to her seat. He was worried, so when Hetty simply sat and sipped her tea, he found himself contemplating the temperature function for his tea. Would the cooling effect of the steam rising off his tea be comparable to the simple convection?

He snuck a glance at Nell, but as near as he could tell, she could be simply deciding what movie they'd watch on Tuesday. Minutes passed: two, then three, then five, as they sat and sipped in a silence far from companionable. Finally, Eric realized he'd drunk so much of his tea that after a single sip, he could make a polite break for ops. Hetty must have sensed his intention, for she asked over her tea, "Did you have a pleasant holiday, Mr. Beale?"

"Nice, very nice, thank you." He watched with gloom as Hetty topped up his cup, trapping him for more questions.

"Did you travel?"

"Yes. I was reminded that not every place is as balmy as southern California."

She took two more unhurried sips of tea. "Did you watch any football?"  
>Relief. Something he could discuss without revealing his emotions, his crazy desire to reveal just how happy he felt, and his hopes for his colleague and formerly-platonic friend. "Yes, I saw the Chicago Bears game."<p>

They played, as I recall, Minnesota? That's a place which is far from balmy this time of year."

Inwardly, he groaned. She knew. He was reminded of a chess game, as the master gradually, inexorably, arranges the pieces for the endgame, and the opponent, overmatched and undermanned, is left wondering how and when the end will come.

Initiative. If he could simply regain the initiative, he might be able to escape with a draw.

"As I recall, you like to travel for the holidays, Hetty?"

"Yes."

"Macao, again?"

"No, this year I visited a friend who lives in Napa. Yourself?"

If ever he found a book called _Tea with a Gorgon,_ he would never need to read it, for he knew now how it would end. At this stage only a major terrorist attack would divert Hetty from her goal. Might as well get it out there. "Nell…err…Ms. Jones invited me to join her family in Minnesota for Christmas."

"Yes, the director told me how he had tracked you down. That was very sociable of her."

When Hetty diverted her gaze to Nell, Eric did too, and gave a look intended to acknowledge the absurdity of discussing in the third person someone with whom they were currently sharing tea. "Yes. Nell's a kind and good person, Hetty."

"I'm glad you think so, Mr. Beale, for the director also described your accommodations for the upcoming intelligence conference." Endgame. Checkmate. Tip the King over in his place.

"The director is being most generous, Hetty." Nell finally interjected.

Hetty did not turn her gaze from Eric. "And yet, considering transportation, I suspect this is more economical than two rooms further out."

He chose his words carefully. "I doubt, still, that the director is a stingy man. You and the agency have always treated us generously. Everything I've seen indicates that the Arlington is the height of luxury."

Eric had the sense that Hetty had finally tired of pretense. She said, "Yes, I'm sure the room will be just fine. My concern is for its occupants." She emphasized the plural. She allowed the sibilant 's' to hang in the air for a second, then continued. "As you know, I have many years of operational experience."

Eric nodded.

"And in that time, I have found that the riskiest operations come when the agents have recently had a change in their personal status."

Nell interrupted. "But Hetty, this is a conference, not an operation."

Eric followed up, "And besides, I'm not an agent."

"True, true," Hetty confirmed, "so it's all the more reason to remember, Mr. Beale, that everyone else there is a spy."

"But they're all U.S. agents! They won't be spying on me!"

"Officially, no, they won't. But from a practical sense, they will: remember that they're all from different agencies, all competing for slices of the same intelligence budget, all competing for the ear of the White House. If the NCIS OSP sends a pair of hormonal teenagers, it will reflect badly on us."

"But we're not teenagers."

"Good, then I trust you not to act like it, either!" Silence. Finally, Hetty resumed. "As I said, bad things happen when agents work together soon after a change in their personal relation. I'm happy you two have found each other, so even if I could, I would not solve the problem by prohibiting the relationship. Similarly, we cannot reschedule the conference, nor can we avoid sending you two, since you, Ms. Jones, are the agency's Latin America expert, and you, Mr. Beale, our cyber-warfare expert." Hetty paused. "It seems to me the only way to solve the problem is to speed the relationship's maturation." She reached into her lower desk drawer, and withdrew with a smile a bottle of chardonnay. "OSP worked well in your absence last week: it can survive this afternoon as well. This is one of Napa's finest wines. It should be served with cheese, for stamina, and fruit, for quick energy. Go. Don't do anything you both don't want to do, but whatever happens, I don't want to see you two before ten tomorrow."

In shock, Eric looked again at his diminutive boss. "So, you're sending us home with instructions to…" He resisted the temptation to illustrate with gestures.

"Mr. Beale, Ms. Jones, I would never presume to tell you to do anything," she paused, "intimate. What I am suggesting is that those things would be better done before, than during your trip." Nell and Eric looked at each other in surprise, then stood and muttered their embarrassed thanks, but Hetty interrupted them. "In days gone by, I might have advised you to work the kinks out of your relationship, but I fear now that I might be misinterpreted."

Eric scrambled through the Mission, collecting his things for the trip home. Since leaving Hetty's office, Eric had been planning the logistics for the evening and assembling his last-minute shopping list. "Fruit and cheese from the market, and a bouquet to send home with Nell. Maybe a candle?" he thought.

Nell caught him on the balcony. "So, umm, your place or mine?" she whispered.

"You and your family were most hospitable last week. Perhaps I can host tonight?"

"Sounds good."

She started to pull him in for a kiss, but he interrupted, whispering, "Not here."

"Drats! You're right. I'll just have to make up for it later."

"I'll look forward to it. See you about four?"

"Four it is. Anything I can bring?"

"Just you."

Eric stood with the wine-bottle in his hand, still dazed by his immense good fortune. Unfortunately, he didn't see Sam come down the hall from the armory.

"Headed home early, Eric?"

Eric jumped. "Yes, Hetty gave m…us…me…I mean Nell and me the afternoon off." Sam saw the bottle in his hand. "Oh, and this, too." He handed it to Sam, and images flashed through his mind of a brand-new swivel chair launched over the rail from this very spot. He could not help but wonder whether it would be the wine or the technical operator that would meet the same fate.

Sam merely smiled and examined the wine's label. "An excellent vineyard. This would be wonderful with fish—sole, perhaps. Buttery, with notes of figs and apricots."

Eric, in no mood to cook tonight, had been planning takeout pasta salad, so he redirected the conversation. "And if served with cheese? Would those fruits be right?"

"Yes, and perhaps a Camembert, mild. It would be excellent."

"Thank you, Sam. I've got my shopping to do."

"Oh, and be sure to get that chilling while you're out. You'll want it at about fifty degrees. I'll want to hear about it tomorrow!"

Eric, already bolting down the steps, froze, thinking, "Not you, too."

"The wine, Eric. Just the wine!"

* * *

><p>Midnight, and then one o'clock came and went before the couple had finally exhausted their desire, had finally released all the tension that had developed over four years of working together, growing closer and closer, until finally that night. At six, Eric's alarm went off, and he found himself cursing that he hadn't remembered that they'd be sleeping in. He extracted himself from under Nell, then reached across to turn it off. He admired her naked back and lavished it with kisses before he settled back beside her. "I'm sorry. I forgot to turn it off."<p>

"Don't be, Eric. It gives us time to share that shower I promised."

"Coffee first?"

"I'd like that. You get it started. I'll be there in a minute." Eric smiled as he watched her disappear into his bathroom. He rumbled himself out of bed, put on his boxers, and then went to his kitchen.

While there, he got a text message from Deeks. "Surf's up! You goin'?"

He shot back, "Somethin' else. Enjoy, then tell me about it."

"Hope it's not a case."

"Nope."

"'Kay then. Enjoy, then tell me about it." Deeks even included a winking emoticon.

"Not on your life." Then he took out the battery.  
>A minute later, Nell stumbled into the kitchen wearing Eric's shirt. She held her phone as if she had just finished her own text message conversation, which she showed to Eric.<p>

Kensi wrote, "Marty just had a weird IM conversation with Eric. Something up?"

"Marty?"

"Detective Liaison Martin Brandel Deeks. Better?"

"Whatever. I didn't see it. Why should you think I did?"

"Eric passed up surfing. Ten-foot swells, we hear."

"I'm sure there's a good reason." Nell had texted back.

"Color me curious."

"By the way, how was Mammoth?"

"It was great. We even got in some snowboarding."

"Color me curious."

"Well," Eric looked at Nell. "Looks like the cat's out of the bag now."

"Yup. If Kensi knows, then so does Deeks, and then we'll never hear the end of it."

Eric passed her the coffee, then dug out the milk from his fridge. "Oh, Here's that IM conversation I had with Deeks." He had spent the time reassembling his cell phone.

After Nell read, she looked up. "He knows."

Eric looked worried. "I was that obvious?"

"No harm done. So was I." She giggled, then pointed at her phone, which still showed the IM conversation.

"So that's our plan? Don't actually deny anything, but keep it professional at work?"

Nell thought for a minute. "That sounds about right. We'll be feeling it out as we go along."

Eric made a playful grab for Nell. "Feeling it out? I like the sound of that!" A few minutes later, he broke the kiss. "I usually have a bagel for breakfast. That okay for you?"

"I think there are some apricots left. Mind if I have those instead?"

"Go for it."

"What's the phrase? 'I like the sound of that'?"

* * *

><p>By the time they'd finished their shower, they had to scramble to get to work at ten, and were surprised to find a case waiting for them. Since Agent Callen was working under cover as a mail clerk and Hanna was acting as his backup, just Kensi and Deeks, along with Hetty and Granger, received their briefing.<p>

Nell started. "Meet Commander Michael Dirks. He'd served aboard the _Van Buren,_ but was now runs the Naval Recruitment District of Los Angeles, where he was assaulted this morning."

When Nell looked at Eric, he continued. "Since he was a communications officer while at sea, there's the possibility that…"

"he was targeted for his knowledge of Navy communications technology." Nell continued, but she froze when she saw the scowl Eric gave her.

Under her prompting, he continued. "It's also possible this is a random attack, or that it's related to his family life. He's separated from his wife, and there are indications it's shaping up to be a messy divorce." He looked at Nell, but when she didn't speak, he continued. "There are allegations of infidelity on both sides. We…umm…Nell and I have uploaded the names and addresses of husband, wife, and both third parties"

"alleged third parties," Nell interrupted.

Eric backtracked, nodding at Nell. "alleged third parties, to your cell phones. Dirks is in the ICU at LA General."

"Can anybody think of anything else we need?" Eric asked. Hearing no reply, he continued, "Okay. Kensi, Deeks, let us know when something comes up."

Kensi and Deeks headed for the door, exchanging whispers, but as it swooshed open, Deeks looked over his shoulder and called, "Eric. Walk with me, man."

Kensi hurried down the stairs, so once the door closed behind them, Deeks asked, "That had to be the most awkward briefing we've ever had. What happened in there?"

"I don't know. I really don't. I thought everything was fine with Nell, but then this."

"Was it the messy-love-life angle of the case that got to you two?"

"No, at least I don't think that was it for me. It was more like the interruptions got on my nerves today."

"I always thought it was cute that you two completed each other's sentences. Kensi and I thought your tag-team briefings were a good sign."

"Yeah, I would have thought so too, but now I'm feeling like it's a loss of independence." Eric shook his head in confusion. "What was flirty and fun before is now somehow unprofessional."

"Okay, then. There you go. Just apologize, talk it out, and try to understand her side of the story, too."

Eric shook his head. "I'm scared, man."

Deeks bumped him on the shoulder. "Don't be. There are little bumps in the road. You two have too much good chemistry between you for this to get in the way."

When Eric got back to ops, Nell was gone, but Hetty was waiting for him. "Ms. Jones has stepped out for a minute. Please support both investigations until she returns."

"Yes, Ma'am," Eric offered as Hetty left.

As soon as he had scanned the surveillance cameras for Callen's op and checked Kensi and Deeks' location—en route to Dirks' hospital—he took some settling breaths and then turned to research for the cyber-warfare conference. He spent the next half hour pulling position papers and reading technical commentary on the Sony hacking case. He had just assembled and ordered his reading list when Nell returned.

"There's a treat downstairs in the fridge for you," she whispered.

"Thank you, I'll have it with lunch, if that's okay." he said looking at her shoe. "I'd like to take a break, too. Kensi and Deeks just got to the hospital to interview Dirks, and things are copasetic for Callen. Would you mind holding down the fort for a few?"

"Not a problem." Nell, too, seemed to divert her eyes.

On his way out of the mission, Eric couldn't resist the temptation to peek in the fridge.

There he saw a plastic takeout container from the neighborhood's new bakery. Looking more closely, he saw it contained a cube of frosting— or perhaps cannoli cream?—surrounding four stacks of three Oreos each, sprinkled with Oreo crumbs and decorated with a single Oreo dipped in chocolate and two macadamia nuts. Either Deeks was in the doghouse, too, or Nell was feeling sorry. Either way, the sight confirmed his plan, and he made a quick trip to the florist.

When he returned, Hetty looked up from her desk as he passed through the bullpen, saw the bouquet, nodded, and went back to her work. Before he got to the sliding door, he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

Nell was on a video conference with Sam, but when they saw the flowers, Sam cut short the conversation with a smile, saying, "Nell, the rest can wait. We'll pick up in a few."

Eric cursed inwardly. Could their spat possibly have been more public? Could they have made a bigger fuss? Could they have advertised their relationship more completely to the team?

Well, nothing to be done about it now. Get it sorted out before the trip goes bad. There was probably still time to get those two rooms in Stafford if he couldn't fix things. On second thought, ninety minutes each way with nothing to do but curse the traffic. He'd pay for the room himself just to avoid commuting with Nell.

"This is really sweet, Eric. Thank you."

He checked that the rest of the room was empty. "I wanted to apologize."

"Me, too."

"I don't know what happened during the briefing."

"I don't either," Nell admitted, "but I have a theory."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It's like we crossed so many boundaries last night that now we need to reestablish boundaries at work. Helping each other at work in little ways that would have been okay before, now would be belittling. And I don't want to belittle you, Eric."

"Thanks, Nell. I think you're right. If I can just respect boundaries here at work, we can make this work."  
>"No, Eric, it's me. I need to respect boundaries. Not complete your sentences, not steal your thunder when we're briefing the team. I started it when I interrupted you this morning."<br>"It's me too. An interruption like that—it's normal. That's how we've been doing briefings since you started here. Deeks even had a name for it. 'Tag team briefing,' he said. He thought it was cute. Somehow, I just got bent out of shape about it today, and I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too."

"Friends again?" Nell asked shyly.

"Better than friends, I hope." Eric looked over his shoulder at the sliding door, scanned once more to make sure that ops was empty, then he gave her hand a squeeze.

Nell stood. "I'd better get those flowers in water." Then she bustled out.

For a minute, Eric sat in silence, staring at the big screen, checking the status of the two investigations: Kensi and Deeks's along the right edge, Sam and Callen's along the left edge, and in between a jumble of documents in Spanish. On one, he caught a Cuban flag, and on another, the word "Havana" so when Nell returned, he tentatively asked, "Preparing for the Cuba conference?"

"Yeah." She didn't look up from her work unwrapping the bouquet.

Boundaries: he needed to respect her boundaries. "Can I ask?"

She smiled, "Yeah. I looked over the titles of the talks people are giving, and noticed that nobody's talking about Admiral Mondragon. He's been teaching at their Naval Academy for, well, forever, but the US doesn't seem to know much about him and his perspective on naval doctrine. I'm tempted to talk about him myself, but can't find much info either."

"Can I ask, do you think there's something on secure servers somewhere? Think a little hacking would help?" He wiggled his fingers like he was warming them up for a contest.

"Yeah. He spoke at a conference in Venezuela, but I haven't been able to find the transcript. They probably keep it secret."

"Can I give it a try?"

"Have at it, Wolfram."

A few minutes later, he sat back and smiled. "Here you go! And do you have his remarks in Nicaragua?"

"I didn't even know Mondragon had been there. Let me take a look."

A few minutes later she smiled. "Wow, this is really great. Thanks, Eric! Can I ask what you're planning?"

"Right now, I'm tempted to use the Sony hack as a starting point to list similar hacks that we—U.S. law enforcement—ought to be preparing for."

"You mean like asking 'What if?'"

"Exactly, but"

"but you don't want to step on any toes? Don't want to sound like a conspiracy theorist."

"Exactly."

"Can I suggest," Nell offered tentatively.

Eric smiled, "Please!"

"Use the word 'counterfactual,' early and often, and put it just like you did to me. Treat it like you're making a list of war-game scenarios, not like you're second-guessing the CIA."

"I like it. Thanks, Nell!" He was tempted to give her a thank-you kiss, but resisted and turned it into an underhanded high-five.

Just then, Eric's cell phone rang, and Deeks called in with an update on his case. The Dirks case would send them first to Malibu, and then to Huntington Beach, a one-hour drive with the traffic at its best. Around 11:30, Callen's cover, Jimmy the mail guy, went on his lunch break, so Nell and Eric didn't have to take their lunch in shifts.

On the way to the fridge, Eric debated how to handle Nell's dessert treat. He'd brought in soup on Monday, and was worried about the calories the dessert would pack. Ultimately, he decided to feign surprise and negotiate a plan with her. Knowing how much she, too, liked Oreos, he figured he could talk her into sharing.

When Nell beat him to the fridge, and extracted the dessert, he could tell how enthusiastic Nell was about it. "Nell…Wow! … Just… Wow! It looks…Wow! Would you share it with me?"

"I wanted you to have it," she looked around the bullpen for anyone who could overhear. Even though they were alone, she stepped closer and whispered into his ear, "for quick energy."

"But if I have it now, all that quick energy would be gone by three."

"Good point." She pulled her chin in mock contemplation. "Maybe after dinner at my place?"

"So…?" He asked, understanding all that hinged on the question.

"So we can put that energy burst to good use, Beale."

"All the more reason you should share it with me."

She whispered again, "But I don't need a sugar rush to get my motor running."

"I'm flattered, but I don't either."

"We'll think of something. Maybe like at halftime?"

"There's a football game you'd rather watch?" Her expression turned into a scowl.

"No, Silly! I mean like to recharge my battery. You wore me out last…"

"Shush…" she whispered.

After finishing his soup, Eric returned to developing his thinking about the Sony hack. Before long, he developed a long list of alternative scenarios.

What if…it was Korean expats trying to stir up trouble with the North?  
>What if…it was a publicity stunt by Sony? The movie, from what he'd heard, was not that good.<p>

What if…the target had been a government agency? A different industry? A newspaper?

What if…it had been Americans targeting their favorite foe? Like Northern Irish targeting Britain or friends of Israel targeting Iran?

As he was trying to find an organizing principle, he showed the list to Nell and described his problem.

"I'm noticing a lot of 'false-flag' scenarios. In fact, most were laid out by Sun Tzu."

"There we go! Thanks Nell!"

* * *

><p>By Friday night, Eric felt more secure in his relation with Nell, and felt physically tired from the sleep deprivation, so they spent the evening watching a movie before crawling into bed in comfortable silence.<p>

Saturday turned out to be what his dad would call 'a hell of a day.' An ordinary arms dealer had actually been hired to steal a vicious bioweapon, only to be killed by hostage takers after the same virus, which ultimately ended up in the hands of a Irish extremist who used it on the NCIS agent trying to stop her. Callen now lay in the isolation ward of the university hospital, pumped with drugs, treated with the antidote, and being prepped for transport to the CDC. The edict had come down that Nell and Eric still should go to the conference, so Eric quickly drove to his place, reloaded his carry-on, then hurried to pick up Nell for the trip to the airport.

A little later, as they waited at the gate, he found himself wondering whether he would have had the nerve to shut himself in isolation if he'd been in Callen's shoes.

Nell's perfume pulled him out of his reverie when she leaned over and whispered, "So, you wondered how I knew about La Perla?"

"That boutique on Rodeo Drive, where the panties don't cost eight hundred dollars? "

"That's the one. I won't tell you now how I know, but I can say you'll find out when we get to the hotel."

"Really?" He couldn't hide his shock and surprise.

"Really, Bealie!" Then her voice changed, to sound almost like a purr. "Let's just say, I hope you like purple!"

"Whatever I though before, as of right now, I love purple."

Eric spent the rest of the trip trying to see if Nell's bra-strap was purple, but the natural chill of the plane kept her sweater on throughout.

As the couple reached the security station at Washington National Airport, they found themselves separated by the crowd from their plane. Eric looked to his left, where Nell had disappeared, but found himself tackled by the raven-haired dynamo, Abby Sciuto. Strictly speaking, she gave him simply an energetic hug, but surprise and want of sleep amplified its effect, and he was left to struggle for his balance.

"Eric Beale! How are you? How was your flight? Can I show you the Washington Monument and the National Tree on the way to your hotel? And then would you like to go to the Smithsonian? It's not open yet, so we can swing by your hotel on the way! Oooh! There's so much I'd like to show you, and where's Nell Jones?" Eric was, as usual, amazed by the breadth and enthusiasm Abby could pack into a single caffeine-fueled greeting.

Since Abby still had not released him, he looked dazedly over her shoulder wondering the same thing, but more in concern than anticipation. His fears were realized the next second, when Nell emerged from behind a group of lobbyists. "Abby, here she is now." She released him from the hug, and they both turned so they could see the shock on Nell's face.

Any fears Eric had that Nell might be jealous evaporated when Abby gave to Nell the same intense hug he'd just received.

"Abby Sciuto, meet Nell Jones. Nell Jones, meet Abby Sciuto." Even as he said it, he realized the fatuousness of formally introducing two women who had shared numerous videoconferences, and now the dazed one was tight in the grips of the caffeine-dazzled one.

Nell spoke up, "I'm amazed you came to meet us. It's—what—seven in the morning?"

"Nell, Abby and I go way back!"

"So, Eric, you finally seeing anyone?"

"See! We even tried going out for drinks once,"

"That was a disaster!" Abby interjected.

"And she thinks she can manage my love-life ever since!" Eric continued.

"Disaster? Everybody has bad dates. I'm glad you two got past it." As Nell spoke, Eric felt Abby's hand around his waist.

He leaned over to whisper so Nell and Abby could hear without blowing their cover, "Abby got kidnapped."

She laughed, "Nope! Never had that happen! Now I see how you two got past it. Enough that you'll come to the airport to meet us."

The hint of suspicion in Nell's voice reminded Eric how dangerous this conversation could become. He pushed Abby's hand away from his hip.

"Yup! Enough that I get to check up on him ever since. So, spill, Eric!"

With the air of someone whose resistance finally wore down, he surrendered. "Yes, I'm seeing someone."

Nell furrowed her brow. "You regret it, Eric?"

"Not in the least. I regret that Abby gets to find out before my brother does."

"Tough beans!" Abby enthused, before breaking into song. "I wish they all could be California girls…"

"She's a transplant, Abby, as it happens."

"Ahh, we're all transplanted from someplace. I just hope she's good enough for you, Eric!"

"Don't worry, Abbs." Since Abby now was struggling with keys for her trunk, Eric could steal a glance at Nell. Then he replied, "I just hope I'm good enough for her!"

Nell finally chipped in, "I happen to know she thinks you're fine, Eric. Maybe Miss Mystery Woman has her own insecurities."

"Ooh! You've met her? What's she like? Tall? Blond? Beautiful?"

Nell had by now buckled into the passenger seat and pulled it forward so Eric could fit in the back seat. "Nope. That's for Eric to say."

"Abby, Miss Mystery Woman is just wonderful and she makes me very happy, and that's all you get to know." Since Abby's eyes were on the road, he could reach up beside Nell's seat and give her shoulder a squeeze.

"Drats! Who'm I gonna turn my matchmaking talents on now? Nell?"

She laughed. "I'm fine, Abby."

Eric laughed in the back seat. "What do they say? 'Doctor, heal thyself.'"

After breakfast—at Gibbs's favorite diner—they prevailed upon Abby just to drop them at the hotel, hoping their fatigue would excuse their diffidence.

At the curb, Abby asked, "Are you sure I can't swing by after you've rested?"

"No, thanks. There's something we need to do before the conference starts tomorrow."

Once they checked in, Nell turned on Eric. "'Something we need to do'?" she quoted back, laughing. "Are you serious?"

"Well, you've got to admit it's more polite than explaining about the luxurious purple undergarments." They shared a laugh.

"You realize, she'll be upset when she finds out—about us."

"That's probably right, but I'd rather she know you as a brilliant analyst and a great person. If she knew, she'd see you mostly as my girlfriend, which is dangerously close to my sidekick." He looked aside, sheepish. "It sounds so possessive just saying it. I hope I'm not out of line."

"Nope. That's what I love about you: you're so careful about my feelings."

Eric, completely drained from the Saturday and the trip and the whirlwind that is Abby, erupted from his stupor. "Love?" he thought, "did she say 'love'?" But then the demons of doubt-thought took over. "It was simply the attitude she loves, not the whole person." That could, he hoped, come later.

As they followed the bellhop to their room, Nell continued, "How're you feelin', Eric?"

"Honestly? The last twenty-four hours have put me through the wringer. I'd be inclined to rest for a while before we…"

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

><p>In a conference room at the CIA headquarters the next morning, Nell and Eric mingled with analysts and technical experts from other agencies. It had been standard small-talk, a few familiar faces, more familiar names, but soon their way was barred by a Navy captain in full dress uniform. Eric had just managed to read his nametag when Nell reacted.<p>

"Ms. Jones, I'm Captain Jennings."

"Ah, Captain Jennings. It's nice to see you again. We worked together on the Medina case."

"Yes, I remember." The captain looked sheepish. "I'll be chairing the Cuba session. Anything you want me to include when I introduce you?"

"No thanks. I'll be fine. Just name, agency, the title of the talk."

"I noticed you're working on Admiral Mondragon," the captain pressed. "It's been a feat to get good information on him. We'll look forward to what you've got."

"Well, thanks. I'm fortunate to work with a technical operator who's excellent with the byways of the internet." Eric smiled, and tried to keep it from taking over his face.

"Mr. Beale?" Jennings asked. "I saw his talk on the program, too." Looking up, he read Eric's nametag at that moment. "In the flesh." He shook Eric's hand. "I see that you're as brash as your colleague. I suspect our friends at the CIA won't take kindly to your questioning their attribution."

Eric dove straight in. "I'm sure they wouldn't, which is why mine is a more counterfactual analysis. I've used the Sony hack to consider similar cyber attacks, to ask the question 'how would we respond?'" He looked past Jennings' shoulder to see Nell give him a thumbs-up.

"Well, we'll look forward to it, I'm sure," and he moseyed off, orange juice in hand, to greet one of the generals in attendance.

After Jennings left, Eric muttered to Nell, "Brash? I didn't hear anything brash in what we said or did. Did I miss something?"

Nell assured him, "He was remembering the Medina case."

"That's good, 'cause I don't."

"A Venezuelan politician came to LA for fundraising, but we feared an assassination attempt. Jennings and I disagreed on the utility of some language analysis software. Afterward, Callen's words were, 'Pick on somebody your own size.'"

"But he's not all that tall."

"Taller than me, and a captain to boot. I think we worried I'd overstepped my bounds."

"Callen and his irony." Eric smiled.

Nell smirked, "I always do my irony on Tuesdays."

"Wash-and-wear for me."

"I noticed." Nell thought for just a second, then continued, "And then there's wordplay on Wednesday."

"That's a problem, 'cause today's a Monday."

"Good point. So are you up for some double entendre?"

Eric checked both ways then leaned over to whisper, "After the past week, I don't think he could handle a single entendre!"

"Well then he'll have to wait. It's Saturday for synecdoche."

He continued to whisper, "Synecdoche is when the part represents the whole. I didn't say I'm tired, just Willie, so it's personification."

"You've named it? Yup, that's personification: Friday."

"Either way, it sounds like Hetty's plan worked: I'm not tired, but we're not distracted."

"Except that we're sitting in the corner whispering."

* * *

><p>A reception. Eric relaxed; well, to the extent he could relax in full khaki pants and an oxford. He and Nell had both finished their talks, Nell just minutes before, and she was still the center of an enthusiastic crowd. Of course, Eric stood in the background, letting her bask in her moment. Sure, she'd had the spotlight before, but always as part of the team. This time, it was just Nell. Nell had helped put the puzzle together; Nell had gained that one profile that helped the US understand a country that had been, for over fifty years, a black hole floating just off the tip of the Florida Keys.<p>

Eric watched as into this orbit stepped an old friend. "Ms. Jones, I'm FBI agent Ambrose from the Los Angeles field office. We're going to need copies of the documents you used, along with IP addresses, passwords. You can drop it by our suite this evening before eight."

"Yes, Jonas, we've met before." She shook his hand. "It turns out we'll need form 97 dash 821, in duplicate. Route it past your director and then ours. I'm sure you'll have those documents within the fortnight."

"But…" he sputtered, then recognition spread across his face. "Is this about Agent Hanna?"

"I'm sure we'll need information from your agency in the future. I hope we can count on continued cooperation, and a less inhibited flow of information to NCIS?" Eric recognized her triumphant smile.

"Yeah, Yeah. Whatever. It's just we can't have any leaks."

"Are you sure?" she pressed. Eric, also skilled at lip-reading, watched as she whispered something, and he reacted in shock. "As I recall, Jonas, you were the one behind the last leak at the FBI."

"Very well, Ms. Jones. Your office can have what it needs, when it needs it."

"Thank you, I'll e-mail the Mondragon file to you before dinner." She smiled sweetly.

Eric watched as Nell returned to the table to start organizing her briefcase for their exit where she was followed by a Marine.

"Ms. Jones, I'm Major Kramer."

"Pleasure to meet you."

"I was hoping you'd join me for dinner."

"I remember your talk on the Horn of Africa. So many problems there."

"Well, I try to leave those problems at the office. This would be more of a social dinner." Eric's ears perked up, and his hands balled into fists.

"Thanks, but I'm dining with a colleague from Los Angeles."

"Perhaps they could take a rain-check?"

"I'm seeing someone. Best wishes to you, Major," and she gave him a gentle hand-shake. Eric smiled. Problem averted: everything is fine in the world.


End file.
